


Why the hell not

by Atanih88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not-quite porn in Purgatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why the hell not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theskywasblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/gifts).



> Written for theskywasblue's birthday ♥ ♥ ♥ hope you have a good one! (Erm, it's not beta'd so forgive mistakes ^^;)

It'd been the adrenalin. Or the cold. Or the fear. Maybe. Or maybe it'd been none of that.

But Castiel is still shuddering against him, his belly still pressed against Dean's and his skin so hot. He's not hiding his face though, not disappearing in the blink of an eye at the first sign of emotions that might take him over.

His eyes are on Dean, wide and blue and stunned, like he doesn't understand what's just happened. His chest is heaving as he drags in lungful's of air, and he's bleeding a little right there on the corner of his mouth where Dean may have been a little too enthusiastic with teeth. He hadn't meant to. 

Dean wets his lips. "You okay?"

Castiel doesn't move. He stays where he is, arms braced either side of Dean, dick warm and spent against Dean's stomach and Dean can feel the sticky mess on his skin.

"Cas?"

"I…" Those eyes widen a little bit more and Castiel pushes away from him, settles back, not all that self-conscious as his cock drags over Dean's skin until they're no longer touching. 

He doesn't make a move to tuck himself away and Dean doesn't do much about his own state of undress. Dean grunts, though, when Castiel's weight falls hard on his thighs, forcing his legs to lie flat on the ground. For once the trees around them are quiet. It won't be for long. They'll have to be up and running as soon as Dean's legs feel steady enough to carry him. Doesn't look like it'll be any time soon because the sight of Cas straddling him like that, trench coat falling off one shoulder, hospital pants constricting his thighs and leaving everything else on display.

Well. It has him swallowing on a dry throat and his dick twitching back to life.

"I'm fine," Castiel says, but he's frowning a little now, little lines marring his forehead as he stares down at Dean's stomach, still exposed and getting chilly now in the places where they'd been touching.

He dips a curious finger into Dean's navel and when Dean looks down he sees that Cas is actually scooping out a little drop of come. He drops his head back and throws an arm over his face.

What the fuck. What the fuck are they doing.

"It's interesting the way that we also create something that gives life," Cas is saying, then he gives a small shrug, tone matter of fact, "not, of course, as fascinating as the way bees work. Their system for producing doesn't seem quite as intense." 

Beneath his arm, Dean blinks his eyes open. "Bees. You're comparing us fucking to bees," he says. He can't quite work emotion into that one. 

Maybe he's going into shock or something. Or maybe he's just lost it too.

That is of course when Castiel chooses to wrap his fingers around Dean's dick. Dean makes a noise that's somewhere between a hiss and a moan, flesh feeling a little too raw from the rutting that had just taken place. But Castiel's fingers are warm and he can't really protest it, even if he locks his jaw tight and leaves his arm over his face. 

Then he feels just the edge of a blunt nail scraping gently over the slit on the head of his cock and it's like an electric shock straight down to his balls, making him suck in his stomach and his hips arch up off the floor.

He pulls his arm off his face and stares up at Castiel, eyes huge on his face and mouth hanging open. "Christ—"

Castiel frowns up at him, Dean's cock, trying pathetically to get harder—and succeeding, though it's not all happy feelings down there—still in hand. He's still working his thumbnail over Dean's slit, as if he's trying to get it to part and Dean's breath is backing up into his throat, trying not to squirm on the ground. He can feel the cool leaves getting stuck in his hair and slipping past the collar of his shirt.

"I'd like to see it come out, this time."

Dean groans and let's his head fall back down.

Shit. 

Yeah. 

Why the hell not.


End file.
